in its complexity of notes and beauty is my visceral recognition of god.
Recognition, more than plain identification, as I have a receptor that knows its shape.
Once bound, a chemical reaction is induced at the cellular level, simultaneously engulfing and expanding my reach.
I fall in love, again, and the illusion of separateness drifts away and god emerges in infinite expressions.
I have the most glorious life and am surrounded by grace. If I ever doubt your love, it's only an evolutionary bi-product that I have learned to tolerate because tolerating seems to be the only option at this level of consciousness.
I sometimes have anxiety and concluded that it's due to a fear that I'm not living up to my potential in a far off and irrelevant dimension called the future. Silly, I know, but I'm doing the best I can to train my brain, just like I train my muscles, to be stronger and perform the actions set in my highest intention.
I hope to one day gain more control, or self mastery. The funny thing is that I know I must simultaneously develop a sense of ease and acceptance to accompany a growing sense of self control, or the scale won't be evenly distributed with these soul desires.
You see all these things I must do? You see the missions, goals, and actions I assign myself to? They are just goals floating around, a product of my generation, yet I locate them and label them "mine."
Sometimes I toy around with the possibility of "enough" and when I explore the feeling of "grace" it feels synonymous with "enough." I laugh thinking that striving for grace is actually a paradox, since you can't "try to be" and "be" at the same time.
God, you're funny. I like you.
is that despite the small offenses, the discreet allocation of shame, the abuse dressed as a "misunderstanding," "normal couple stuff," "not a big deal," the dismissal, the small snips of cruelty, the avoidance of responsibility, the enforced corruption of perception, there will always be the good memories, the uncomfortable ones that drop in casually and take it upon themselves to rearrange all the furniture in the room, like they've lived there forever or something.
The new orientation, though prettier, feels infinitely more complex, rendering itself incomprehensible to the mind nor heart.
Shifting reality offers no ground for normalcy.
No break for the broken heart.
Ana declares as she casually tosses her phone to the side, as if saying it out loud will help define a reality she can’t seem to secure.
A shot of sadness spills out in her chest, each time she declares she’s “over it,” she is faced with the possibility of actually being over it and if she were to wholly release her desire, she fears she would never get what she wants, as if desire is the agent that works overtime to strategize her acquisition of this one thing she wants so badly.
But for now, she declares with words that she is most definitely “over it.”
for likely the last time, her identity vanished.
She was replaced by something—a tearing, bubbling, weeping, screaming, stinging, hissing, loving, and limitless thing. A thing that is better explained through twisting of nipples, first kisses, and razor blades.
There was nothing left to judge the experience as good or bad. Only sensation remained.
The girl snuck one last look before she left: The dog was lying on her belly with her paws stretched in front, ears forward, eyes wide with innocence. The image imprinted the girl’s soul. A piece of the girl died and traveled to a place where her and the dog were eternal.
"God, what can I can give today?" Later that night someone stole $200 out of my wallet. I was both horrified and amused.
that sometimes hates the sound of food mashing in your mouth.
You wanted someone to control, absolutely.
People like you thrive on people like me.
I wanted someone to take control.
People like me thrive on people like you.
You taught me the dangers of outsourcing responsibility.
Now I take responsibility, absolutely.
I wish you well
and hope I have taught you, as well.
When it breaks, it breaks.
The unit is separated. Two pieces. Not one.
Between the remaining halves is a crack to hell.
I fell into the crack.
It’s confusing why I fell, I thought I was innocent.
Climbing back to grace taught me self-love and forgiveness.
When I returned, I knew depth.